#bigjobs

[jubilees231]

A Hard Worker

This is one of our employees in Iraq. Her name is being disclosed due to fears over her safety. She first joined this institution in 2003, helping to kill American troops invading her land. She saw the job advert on a trip to Baghdad and immediately applied. She is now regional director for our Middle East operations. Write your own story today by joining the Oil Exploitation Service. Vacancies have opened in our Oceanic and Asia-Pacific regional offices!

[shibachangtimes-blog]

FUJIFILM FinePix BIGJOB HD-3W Digital Camera

[purlturtle]

1 and 3 for the fic writer asks

Thanks for the ask! (Full list here) These are really fun!

1 What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

I tried to write short! Very very often, my ideas don't stay one-shots; they just evolve and spawn and suddenly there is this huge sprawling narrative and 60K words. 😱😅 So this year I consciously tried to write shorter things, work with prompts, all that stuff - and it really worked! I took on a drabble challenge for myself: write a drabble every month for a specific prompt, and make it into a cohesive narrative. I did that!

And I wrote a series of prompt fics from a Tumblr prompt list that was very lovely, and those were all very nice, contained one-shots! (happy to accept more prompts for this, by the way!)

I also took part in a community collab adventure, the Bering and Wells Advent Calendar, which was so much fun, and ALSO required me to keep things short! I wrote 6 fics for that in total, and they are all under 3K words. In fact, 6 out of 10 of my shortest works were written this year, and I've been writing since 2012! So that's pretty damn good, and I'm proud of myself, and I think this will hopefully help me writer shorter stories too and not just 30K-or-more bigjobs. Fingers crossed!

3 What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

That I can write short stories? 😅 joking aside, though, I've learned a lot more about collaborating with others in fandom spaces (both with other writers, and with beta-readers and artists for the Big Bang), and that is great! Writing has for so long been this solitary endeavor, and it is just wonderful to be around other writers, bounce ideas, learn how they write, how they tackle problems and gnarly bits, all of that!

Thank you for asking!

[cremfeegle]

ACH, IF YE'RE GONNA FOLLOW ME , YE BEST SAY TRAINS RIGHTS! I'LL HAE YE KNOW THAT THE BIGJOBS WRITING DOON THE WEE WURDIES FER ME IS ONE O' THA TRAINS-GENDERS

[theoakandthemistletoe]

Journey

While Morris plunged into a boiling ocean, another ship, on calmer seas, slid gracefully away from Scrantz, bound for the Grey Harbour of Baldur's Gate.

With land out of sight, the second watch were free to rest, gamble, or, in the case of the cooper, swing herself up onto a barrel and lean over the guard rail. As a gnome, she made up for what she lacked in height with the length of her trident, which she levelled at the ocean, frowning in concentration. Fish kept away from the larger military ships close to port, but perhaps here, in a sea few vessels from the kingdom of Anken ever crossed, perhaps--

A pat on her back broke her focus. Behind her stood the cook, a half-orc whose finger alone had nearly been enough to knock her over the side, and a few idle sailors. The cook's grin revealed two broken tusks.

'Stocking up, Kipper?'

'I was going to, before you interrupted.'

'Wouldn't want you falling in. Leave it, we'll trawl a net later. Hangman's dice?'

Kipper sat on the rail and leaned her trident against the side. Soon the dice were splayed across the top of the barrel. An assortment of fish bones, buttons, and shells made up the pot. This was a friendly game, more about conversation than the winnings, and after a few rolls of the dice Kipper nodded behind her.

'Who's the nob?' she asked. The cook glanced round, at the hands hauling on lines and the ornate doors beneath the quarterdeck.

'What?'

'The one in with the captain. Haven't seen 'em since we got under way.'

'I heard they're a soldier, scouting for House Skullduggan,' supplied one of the sailors, as he totted up his dice. Kipper shook her head as the cup was passed to her.

'That weren't no common soldier. They had real nice boots on.'

Dice rattled onto wood. The sailor leered at the gnome.

'You would notice that.'

'Watch it, bigjob, or I'll have your stinking boots off and over the side.'

Another sailor finished tamping down her pipe and leaned forwards. A veil of smoke fell across the group, shielding them from the watchful eyes of the mates on duty.

'I heard as they're one of the Skullduggans themselves,' she said. The revelation was met with a mixture of denial, contemplation, and general dismissal, until the cook slammed her hand down over the dice. The barrel buckled under its weight.

'You're all wrong. I heard they're the Skullduggan. You know. The Marquis.'

She raised her hand and threw her dice in silence. The sailors watched. Two sixes and a three, a good fall. Kipper spoke first, hesitantly.

'Nah, can't be. Who'd be in charge back home?'

'There's loads of 'em, right? They'll probably fight for it. Like rats.'

'I still don't believe it.'

'D'you reckon they've got the sword?' asked a sailor. This seemed to encourage the others, who began to chime in at an increasing volume.

'The sword's made up.'

'No it isn't, I seen it on a statue.'

'What about the Helm? That's real, saw it myself, back during the war with Enkannil.'

'Is it true it turns 'em into a ten foot tall skeleton?'

'Aye, and the bones're so cold they freeze anyone who touches 'em. That's how they survive in the desert.'

'I heard a rumour they kill the captains of the ships they sail on, so's nobody can try and run home.'

'What if they kill our captain? Could we take 'em?'

'No one fights a Skullduggan and lives. They'd take us all out, easy.'

Kipper let them chatter away and stared at the door again. Her expression this time was much more thoughtful, and after a while she reached out to pat her trident, the weight of its shaft reassuring in her tiny hand.

---

Behind the door, the noble guest, foremost of County Scrantz, advisor to the king, decorated war leader and Royal Troublemaker the Marquis Skullduggan was pale, sweating, and propped up in their bunk beside a tin basin, clenching a fist in their limp hair.

'I don't get seasick. The twins get seasick. It must have been the food on this godsforsaken peasant barge, if you can call that sawdust food. Or the wine, it was definitely inferior to ours. That must be it. It was practically poison, I--'

The servant turned his head for a tactful few seconds, while the Marquis was necessarily distracted, and took in the rest of the cabin. There, indeed, was the Helm of Skullduggan, sat inert on the flap of a fold down desk, and propped up on the deck beneath it lay the sword, sheathed in leather embossed with the House motto. Rocking, swaying light danced through the only porthole and played around the ruby on the hilt, a dizzying spangle of pink sunlight in the otherwise darkened cabin.

Behind him, Skullduggan fell back against the pillow, panting.

'Sola mors bloody pacem. I'd rather die than arrive like this. Do you know how Skullduggans are supposed to make their entrance?'

Since this appeared to require an answer, the servant cleared his throat.

'Rioting, shouting, and pillaging, your grace?'

'A simple yes would have sufficed.' They pushed the basin away and winced, but managed to remain upright. 'They don't lose fights against a puddle. Why couldn't we get a wizard to teleport us or something?'

'After County Tirynn voted to outlaw magic--'

'That vote failed. I bribed Dwylionn and Rodyn a lot of money to make sure it failed.'

'Indeed, your grace, but many citizens are now reluctant to admit to the study of magical arts, lest they be persecuted later.'

'Cowards.'

Further condemnation proved impossible as the ship swung upwards on a swell and brought another wave of alleged food poisoning with it. After a while, and some muffled whimpering from under the blankets, the servant chose to tactfully retreat from the cabin and head deeper into the ship, in the direction of the captain's quarters.

He returned some time later to find the Marquis making progress in the war against their own constitution. It had been bitterly won, but they were sat at the desk on a stool bolted to the deck, the Helm taking their place in the bunk, and although their head was resting on their hands they had abandoned the comfort of the basin in favour of a map of Faerûn. As the servant slipped past them to empty the basin through the porthole, they mumbled,

'Any word from the captain?'

'He wishes to speak to your grace at the first available opportunity.'

'Must I? I suppose he wants to tell me about the local exports and trade routes of the Sword Coast.' The Marquis took a deep breath and rose. One second, two seconds, and they were able to open their eyes, although they kept themselves propped against the bulkhead. 'I'll see him now.'

The servant watched doubtfully as they strode, on trembling legs, towards the door. On balance, however, forging ahead with the meeting was probably no less wise than it would be to argue with a determined Skullduggan, and so he settled for clearing his throat again.

'Before you go, I must remind you, your grace, that by order of the King and the noble houses, you are required to remain discreet.'

The Marquis waved a hand.

'Yeah, yeah.'

'We are not on this voyage seeking a war, and even the smallest of diplomatic incidents could have disastrous-- please, your grace!'

And the door clattered shut behind them.

[runixa]

This is hilarious.

It's from feet of clay. (By terry Pratchett (

It's the end of a sign written by wee mad Arthur

Who in later books (I think it's "I shall wear midnight", but I haven't actually researched it) is found to be a nac mac feegle.

Bigjobs. Big jobs.

Hehehe

[impossiblyzealouspost]

🎊 #entertainingchildren is a #bigjob 🎈

[firstofficerrose]

I love the classic Feegle ruse of stacking at least twenty of them on top of each other and synchronizing everything (badly!) under a set of overalls with a hat and gloves and jacket to look like a bigjob. I think that's great!

[decanterofendlessbutter]

Nah, that was a Nac Mac Feegle. He ran up the bigjob's pantleg for attempting to exterminate him with fire while taking a nap.

#Discworld PSA #Nac Mac Feegle cannot be exterminated by normal means #The most effective ways to get rid of them are #The Pursin' o' the Lips #The Tappin' o' the Feets #A complete absence of liquor

Wee guy got fucking vaporised. Who cares

[cat-appreciator]

In the past I’ve done some rambling about halflings/gnomes and pondered what sort of mounts goblins would ride.

Tonight Im returning to halflings/gnomes, because I’m bored and what else am I going to do at 11pm?

The first line in Cat’s Guide to Halflings and/or Gnomes is that halflings and gnomes are the same species. They’re obviously the same species. They occupy the exact same niche, there’s no reason for them to be different species in any setting which features both! They’re different cultures of the same species. Halflings are rural and on relaxants, gnomes are urban and on uppers.

I think I prefer “gnomes” more generally; “halflings” in fantasy media are literally hobbits with the serial numbers filed off. If hobbits/halflings/gnomes are synonymous, I’d rather use the generic term without the baggage.

(Note to self: widespread use of entheogens in gnomish religion? One could take this a step further and have gnomes actually reliant on certain secret herbs and spices to make their brains work right, but I’m not sure how much I like that idea. It fits more into the “cool alien worldbuilding” box than the “riffing on fantasy worldbuilding” box.)

The traditional gnomish pointy hat may indicate that gnomish society puts more value on that outward symbol of cultural identity than their rural cousins do? Or possibly it’s just useful when living in a city full of bigjobs, like those flags you sometimes see on wheelchairs. My, you’re a tall one! Now get outta the way, a gnome is coming through.

I decided (in my previous post on gnomes) that gnomes are basically neotenous elves subject to island dwarfism, which slots better into your basic fantasy world than my previous idea, which was that gnomes are literal space aliens stuck in fantasyland, trying to uplift society into something which can repair their orbiting generation ship so they can leave again. It’s a neat idea, but it foundered on the Scylla of “how alien can I make gnomes before they don’t look cute” and the Charybdis of “sci-fi and magic together requires a double helping of the suspension of disbelief sauce”. I still like “stranded spacer society has a long-term plan to make it back to orbit” as a concept, but I think it’s best set aside for another time.

One thing I do think gnomes need is some sort of fantasy mount. Both because I like little guys riding on critters and because riding a critter literally elevates gnomes a bit amongst the bigjobs. Plus it’s a fun worldbuilding element to have their culture put a high value on animal handling.

When I pondered goblins I did a poll, and a brilliant reader suggested the perfect solution that goblins ride giant rats. Which is an excellent solution! So I thought I’d put out another poll, see what you all thought.

I’m unlikely to go with the Sabertooth Deathpanther idea, the idea of a cute little gnome riding about on a terrifying murder machine just amuses me. Back when I played World of Warcraft I wanted a giant crab mount for my gnome but similarly the only thing crabs have got going for them is surrealist whimsy.

[highvoltageindustries]

Conversion day! ⚡️ - - - Follow me to see more … @projectlineman #lineman #electrician #Linelife #bluecollar #union #proud #powerlines #buckettruck #apprentice #grunts #project #system #construction #hardwork #highvoltage #wyedelta #storm #repost #electricity #utility #pole #workhorse #workhardplayhard #ygcinthewild #conversion #bigjob #switching Posted by @projectlineman https://www.instagram.com/p/CqF74LxLUld/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[cremfeegle]

THE BIGJOBS SAYS "ASKS ARE OPEN" WHATE'ER THAT MEANS.

[keevansixx]

it's a lazy day. The kind of day where every dog has that sweet spot in the shade where they can rest and keep an eye on everything at the same time. the slight whiff of musky squirrel drifting in the air...

"that's right ya damned dirty squirrel, keep on walking. One of these days when your back is turned trying to bury that nut "POW!" i'll broadside ya like a sleazy alley cat hopped up on catnip and fresh cream. I'm warning ya, ya little rhodent...one of these days!"

I retreat back to my sweet spot and resume my vigil, it's a good job. lots of kibble, the occasional table treats, fresh water, plentiful ear scritches and belly rubs, what more can an honest working dog ask for. I've been with the bigjobs for what seems like an age now. Trained to be a good boy in everything i do for the family. they eventually bring in the mini-bigjob, the boss's kid for me to protect. it's been a good life. the kiddo brings me lots of treats (some unintentional) and i keep the kid safe from anything that invades the sanctity of the home and yard.

I hear bigjob jr. calling from the back porch. i glance up from my spot to see the kid excitedly charging across the yard in my direction. I'm always happy to see the tyke looking happy, and my tail gives a halfwag in greeting.

No chewy orb in the kids hand today. Damn. those are sacred. the fuzzy orb of divine pleasure all dogs love unconditionally and covet above all else. the kid is chatting happily and giving me good scritches in all the right places. Suddenly He takes off for the other side of the yard, the smell of an hour old baloney and cheese sandwich drifting off his hands as he runs away. I drool a little, the smell is good.

Jr. is standing by the garden shed calling my name. I glance over all calm and collected like a good dog is supposed to do. The kid reaches somewhere behind the shed. My ears perk up in case there is trouble. the kind of trouble that requires a little fang and paw action from time to time to discourage bad things from harming the family. my pulse quickens a little bit tensing for an outburst of alarm from the kid, senses ready for action. the kid straightens up a bit and hides his hand behind his back all quick like. He's hiding something from me. I stand up from my spot and watch the kid in case something goes southpaw wrong.

Jr. is smiling in that weird bigjob way they all do and asking me something of a question over and over. my head cocks quizzically at the sounds and i trot over to see what he's going on about, but he's excited about it, and i start to get excited about it too.

with a sudden motion, he whips out a long chewy and starts wagging it in the air above my head. I can smell faint traces of squirrel, mixed in with good earth, and the smell of baloney sandwich mingling in the air and suddenly i want that chewy! I want that chewy like wanting to chase the noisy rolling beasts that pass by the yard daily. I wanted that chewy more than the fuzzy orbs the bigjobs bring me when i'm a really good boy. I wanted that chewy more than chasing tail and digging holes in the flowerbed. I HAD TO HAVE THAT CHEWY!

I lose all decorum and poise and start hopping around like a milk drunk puppy again, vocalizing my need of the chewy to the delighted smiles and laughter of the chairman of the board, mr mini-bigjob jr.

He rears back and gives the much desired chewy a mighty heave across the skies. My eyes track the chewy as my legs begin pumping, (I'm a lean mean chasing machine, nothing can escape my speed!) as i give chase to the flying chewy. Before it hits the ground, i give a mighty leap and deftly catch it in my jaws like a seasoned pro out for a victory lap after a home run. The best catch of my career thus far, if i do say so myself. YES! the chewie is mine! muahahahaha! I proudly take a victory jog in celebration.

Jr. calls me over to celebrate my accomplishment. good scritches and pats. he asks me for the stick back. I'm hesitant, but he's the boss and the boss is always right, so i release the chewy to his care.

Describe a dog going to fetch a stick, but in the style of a noir crime thriller.

[gilbertkingelisa]

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